Be Still
by afastmachine
Summary: The morning after is never pretty, except for when it is. (Final sequel to Don't Touch, Riot Rhythm, White Knuckles, and Exit Wounds, in that order)


Well, this is it. I refuse to say it's the end, but this concludes the arc I had envisioned following White Knuckles. I sincerely hope you guys enjoy it.

* * *

_Be still and know that I'm with you  
Be still  
Be still  
And know_

Emma woke up to a pounding headache, too-bright sunlight, and a solid pair of arms pressing into her middle. It took a moment for her to realize where she was, and it all came rushing back, her skull pounding as she remembered the night before. Finding him at the bar, following him back to his ship, the fight, the _sex_...and then falling asleep on opposite sides of the bed. But now he was wrapped around her like an octopus, both arms tucked around her just below her ribcage, holding her back against him firmly, his legs tangled up in her own.

It figured; he'd never been able to keep his hands(and legs) to himself before. The few times they had ended up sleeping together, falling down in utter exhaustion, he had always clung to her, as though she would vanish before he had a chance to have her again.

She winced at the thought as she shifted her hips; morning sex was definitely out of the picture for today. That is, if they were even on speaking terms again, if his actions last night had been anything but a goodbye.

The muscles in her thighs burned, and she could feel the sharp pain behind her kneecaps that told her when she did finally get out of here, she would be embarrassingly stiff and far too vulnerable. Her core twinged when she tried to shift against him, reminding her of the actual physical roughness of their encounter.

Yeah. No sex for her. She needed some extra strength advil and possibly a sledgehammer to knock herself out with until everything stopped a) spinning and b) hurting.

Judging from the brightness in the room, it was well into the morning, if not noon already, and Emma sighed. She didn't have anywhere to be, per say, since Henry was with Neal and her father had this weekend at the station, but she was wide awake now, and it was awkward to be here after everything, snuggled away tight in his embrace.

Half in an attempt to slip out of his grip and half in an attempt to wake him, she slowly eased her arm under his, lifting it away from her until her arm was free. The instant she slipped it out from under his, his arm was back, curling even tighter around her.

"And just where are you going," his sleep-heavy voice rumbled in her ear, his fingers stroking across her skin lazily.

So she had woken him up. Or he had already been awake, waiting for her to show signs of life.

"Home," she replied, trying to pry his arm off of her again. This time, though, he refused to budge, firmly keeping her exactly where she was. "Hook," she said warningly, but he just nuzzled at her neck.

"Are you planning on walking back home? Because I doubt even _I_ could get that far in this state love, much less _you_."

Oh. So that's how he wanted to handle things. Fine.

"And whose fault is _that_," she snapped back, irritated. She wanted a nice hot bath and some cocoa and some stupid movie that she could curl up with in bed and pretend she hadn't screwed up two relationships...twice.

"Hey," he breathed softly, apparently not missing her anger. "I'm sorry, Emma." His hand came up to her neck, brushing away the hair that spilled over her shoulder. She flinched when he brushed against the bite he'd left the night before, and he sighed, pressing a soft kiss next to it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I wasn't thinking."

"Which part, the biting, or the fucking?" She couldn't help her tone; she wasn't buying this newfound apologetic sensitivity.

"All of it."

Emma sighed, but he continued rubbing against her stomach in a soothing motion, his lips still gently caressing her neck and shoulder.

"Hook," she said, and she felt his forehead drop to her skin.

"Why won't you use my name, Emma?" The words were whispered against her back, and Emma felt a small twinge of pity, but she stamped it out ruthlessly.

"Because you don't deserve it, _Hook_. Are you gonna tell me _Killian Jones_ was the man fucking me last night?"

After a long moment of silence, she could feel him shake his head minutely. "No," he murmured.

"My point exactly."

He sighed and released her, sitting up behind her. Emma really didn't want to move any more than she had to, so she shifted over onto her back, heedless of the way his sheets pooled around her hips, revealing the myriad of dark marks that littered her skin, evidence of his fingers and teeth. She didn't have to look to know they were there; she could remember practically every single one of them and how she'd gotten them.

"I don't know what you want from me," he said, frustration lacing his words as his eyes flickered across her newly exposed skin. "If I could make it up to you, I would. If I could just turn off the way I feel about you, _believe me_, I _would_. Do you know how _infuriating_ it is to care about you?" He shifted down so he could run his fingers across her shoulder, bringing their faces closer together. "How much I hate myself for hurting you but how all I can see now is you in my bed, _mine_ again?"

"I'm not yours," Emma interrupted firmly, shaking his hand off. "I didn't come back to you just to deal with more possessive bullshit."

He grinned cheekily. "Oh, I _know_ that, darling." His fingers slipped through her hair gently, curling it on his index finger before letting it go, his fingers brushing along her cheek in a caress that felt entirely out of place between them. "I don't think anyone could possess you," he murmured, his voice softening.

"It certainly hasn't stopped them from trying," she muttered, trying to ignore the way his eyes bored into hers, searching, always searching. Emma turned away, already feeling too exposed.

"So what happens now?" She asked, scrutinizing the wall opposite his bed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him slump forward for a moment, and then he leaned back in towards her, face nestling against her neck. He lightly pressed a kiss against the skin there, before moving up, to her cheek.

"Emma," he murmured, trying to get her to turn back to him, his fingers toying with her hair. He tried to kiss her on the lips, and that pushed Emma into action. Gently but firmly she pressed her palm against his chest, pushing him away from her. Hurt flickered in his eyes before he slammed down on it, genuine emotions sliding behind that infuriating facade of his. When she was sure he wasn't going to return to her she reached behind her and rearranged the pillows before shuffling back against them, putting herself into more of a sitting position, placing them on slightly more equal footing.

The movement made her aching body protest, but she managed to ignore it, leaving him no indication as to just how uncomfortable she was.

When it appeared that she was ready to talk, Hook finally spoke. "I told you already, I don't know what you want from me. Not anymore. Obviously it's not just about sex, or you wouldn't have just shoved me away." His tone was challenging, as though daring her to disagree. It set her on edge.

"I shoved you away because every goddamn muscle in my body right now feels freakishly sore, and we need to sort this shit out, so don't give me that crap," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, pleasantly surprised when his gaze didn't even flicker away from her face.

"I'm sorry," he started to say, but Emma held up her hand.

"Stop apologizing. What's done is done, and if I wasn't willing, I would have walked out when you warned me. So don't make this about something out isn't. It's not about sex, or hurting each other, or the past. This is about you and me, and whether we'll ever see each other again after I walk out of this room."

Satisfied, Emma met his gaze challengingly, only to be surprised by what she saw there.

He was looking at her like a man lost at sea, like she was his goddamn salvation, like he'd never known such adoration.

It was fucking disturbing, and our made her want to look away, to curl up and never have this conversation.

Apparently he sensed her discomfort because his gaze softened, eyes dipping across her face before returning to her eyes. A smile cracked across his face.

"Have I told you lately how amazing you are?"

Emma resisted the urge to fall back on her old defenses and roll her eyes, a deflection on her tongue that she made herself bite back.

"You're avoiding," she said instead with a sigh.

He huffed, scrubbing at his face with a dry humorless chuckle. "I don't know what else to tell you, love. You know how I feel about you. I think last night spoke to that particular level of emotion."

"I think you were angry with me last night. That doesn't mean much." She knew there was something deeper, certainly on her side and assuredly on his, but she wanted him to _tell_ her, to do more than just yell and sulk. Again, it was selfish of her, maybe, but he owed her after last night. After she'd revealed herself, it was only fair he do the same.

He narrowed his eyes at her, shifting until he was closer to her, their bodies nearly touching.

"Do you want me to tell you that I've barely been living these past few months? Do you want me to tell you about every night I got so drunk and almost went and tracked you down to demand answers? What about the way I was so furious with you that I put more holes in this damn ship in three months than I did in three hundred years?" He held up his hook, twisting it in the sunlight. "Do you want to know about how right now all I want to do is hold you in my arms and show you just how much I bloody _care_, how I don't think I'll ever be able to stop that, no matter how many times you waltz in and out of my life? And how much I _hate_ myself for being unable to do anything about it, except fuck you into oblivion and try and make you _remember_ me?" His voice was a harsh rasp by the time he finished, anger and frustration mixing on his face and lacing his words.

Emma took a deep breath, letting it out slowly while he continued to stare at her, his eyes slowly dropping.

That wasn't right. That – what she was seeing. Was that _shame_?

"Do you remember what I said last night," she asked softly, reaching out for his hand where it was clenched tight in a fist. Slowly, one finger at a time, she peeled his hand open, palm flat against hers. He didn't hold her hand, but he didn't exactly keep her from holding his, her nails scraping against his wrist. "I said I chose you. I picked _you_. God knows we fucked up, and we're gonna keep fucking up, but it's gonna be _us_."

He made no move to respond, his eyes finding their hands where they were pressed together. She could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, spinning and clicking. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and just when she swore he was about to throw her hand off, instead he shifted his hand until her fingers were resting delicately against his. He leaned forward, tipping his head next to hers, lips dangerously close to her ear.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, love," he whispered, an edge she hadn't been expecting lurking behind his words.

She jerked away from him, but his grip on her hand tightened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I'm not the father of your child, Emma. It _means_," he ground out, as though merely thinking the words was causing immense discomfort, "you can't have your cake and eat it too."

Fury was building in her, hot and burning in her chest.

"Is that what this is about!?" Yanking her hand away from him, she practically rolled out of bed, away from his now-menacing form. It wasn't until she stood that she realized how bad of an idea it had been. Her legs were wobbly, threatening her balance and all she was doing was _standing_. She was still completely naked; hadn't had the sense to drag the sheet with her, and her clothes were ruined, her jeans and bra maybe the only salvageable items.

And, to top it all off, once she was out of the bed, she became intimately aware of how cool the day was, and how warm and safe the bed had felt. In an attempt to hide her discomfort, she crossed her arms over her chest, willing her knees to stop shaking. The anger did a passable job of keeping her focused.

"You think I still want to be with Neal, just to come fuck you on the side?" She didn't know if he was being willfully ignorant or if he genuinely didn't seem to understand what she had meant by what had happened between them. "Do you think I'm that _cold_?"

"I don't know," he snapped, sliding his feet off the edge of the bed so that he was facing her. "I don't know anything about you, it would seem."

"I'm trying to tell you! If only you would pull your head out of your goddamn ass, you'd _know_ that!"

Unable to contain herself anymore, Emma jolted forward, staggering off to the side in an attempt to pace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hook twitch, his hand rising towards her involuntarily, as though he was trying to catch her.

"I haven't been with Neal for _weeks_, and if I _was_ still with him, there's no way in hell I would have slept with you. _I don't do that_." She narrowed her eyes, turning on him. "It may not have occurred to you, but I didn't track you down just so you could fuck me. As good as it was," she added, injecting as much sarcasm as she could into the statement. He flinched as though he'd been slapped, but she continued on. "I said I was sorry; I _know_ I can't make it up to you." _I didn't mean to break your heart_, she nearly said, but it would be a lie, another one for her long list. "But I want you now, I want there to be an _us_ now. If you don't want that, then fine, but don't fucking play games with me. Either take it, or leave it."

She met his gaze, eyes blazing. Finally, it was out. All of it.

"Still making demands, then, I see," he said after a long pause, but the heat behind the words was lacking. Emma rolled her eyes, but the moment was broken, the anger between them slowly snaking away like water disappearing down a drain. For one more long moment, she stood there, watching him. But then her myriad of aches and pains decided to make themselves known, her legs shaking uncomfortably. Hook noticed, and shook his head, sighing.

"Come back to bed, love. I promise I won't do anything untoward." He extended his hand to her, and she looked at it, debating internally if she should take it. After a second, he shook it and spoke again. "For god's sake, woman, just take it."

Shooting him a glare, she finally accepted his proffered hand, and slid back down to the bed. God, it felt amazing, was still warm where she had been lying. He watched her, amusement glinting in his eyes, as she snuggled down into the bed, pulling the sheet up over her shoulder as she curled around the pillow.

"Do you always lay in a man's bed like you plan to take possession of it, darling?"

Emma flicked her gaze to him, ready to shoot back with something snarky, when she paused. He seemed genuinely curious, amused, even, but not even a hint of anything else was there. So, instead she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you always leave the women in your bed all alone so they can claim it?"

He chuckled at that and leaned over her, planting his hand on the other side of her body, his face hovering over hers.

"Are you asking me to join you?" The words were thick with suggestion, his lazy tone belaying the lust behind it.

For a long moment, she met his eyes.

"Maybe," she said finally. "Maybe."

His charming grin faltered for a moment, slipping like he couldn't believe what she was saying. But it was back in a second, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers just enough to make her flutter her eyes shut.

"_Emma_," he murmured, tipping his forehead against hers, "Gods, woman." It wasn't long before she could feel his thumb across her cheek, the gentle stroking motion intended to be something soothing.

"You need to make a choice," she whispered against him, could feel his breath on her cheeks, the way he hovered over her.

"I can't just forgive and forget, Emma," he replied after a moment. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open to meet his. They were so blue, so intense, _so close_. It was like getting lost in everything you knew to avoid. His fingers settled on the side of her face, thumb brushing just under her eye. "I wish I could hate you, _gods_, I wish I could. But all I have is _this_," he rasped. "You could leave me a thousand times and all I would have is this gaping pit inside of me."

"Once is more than enough for me," she said, allowing herself to press her fingers into his neck, to cradle the back of his head.

"Can you promise that?"

When her reply was less than instantaneous, he sighed and tried to lift himself off of her, his hand falling from her cheek, but she wouldn't release him. That wasn't fair, but she owed him an answer.

"I can't promise anything. I can't promise that we won't work, that one day we'll wake up and not know each other. You _know_ that."

Next to her head, his fist tightened in the sheets.

"Yes you can. I _know_ it doesn't matter how much time passes. It won't change _this_." He leaned back towards her, his expression bare, vulnerable. "You forget…I know exactly what _love_ feels like."

And there it was, the word they'd both been avoiding all morning. For as long as they'd known each other, in fact. That dangerous word that had only led to things being ripped away.

She turned her head away, desperate to not have to confront him, his words, that aching openness.

"Don't say that."

Without warning, his fingers were around her jaw, forcing her back to him. Vaguely, it occurred to her to put up a fight, to struggle, but then he was talking.

"Don't say what, Emma? Don't say that _I love you_? That I _can_ imagine what life would be like without you? In _agonizing_ detail?" He dropped his head lower and nuzzled at her cheek, lips ghosting across her jaw. "I want everything you'll give me, love. And more. I want _everything_."

In that moment, something inside Emma broke, crumbling to pieces. The aching, raw, jagged-edged hole deep inside of her suddenly felt too full, too uncomfortable, spilling over and out of her like so much excess. It was like taking a deep breath, and without warning, she felt tears stinging at her eyes, sticking to her lashes and spilling out of the corners.

"You can have it," she choked, trying to force back the tears but failing miserably. "God, you can _have_ it. You can have whatever you want. Whatever _I_ have."

Anything else she might have planned to say was swept away when he finally closed the gap between them and kissed her. His lips were soft, and his fingers brushed away the tears streaking down her face.

It only made her want to cry more, because he kissed her like she was some fragile important thing. Like he did love her. Like it was _possible_.

Slowly, he pulled away, as though separating himself from her lips was the worst thing he could imagine. He peppered kisses on her cheeks, her still-closed eyelids, her jaw, her chin, even, and the bridge of her nose before returning to her lips.

She wanted to feel him, a warm presence over her, so she slid one hand from his neck down his back, urging him to slide back over her, to press against her from head to toe. She wanted to feel _him_.

_He loved her_.

God, she was going to have a mental breakdown if she thought about it too long. Instead, she buried her fingers in his hair and kissed him back with all the passion she could muster. It was nothing like how they had kissed the night before, teeth and tongues fighting every step of the way. He was slow, sweeping into her mouth like he was discovering her for the first time and wanted to save every second of it, committing everything to memory. She moaned and drew his head down, pressing them tighter together.

It was fine with her if they never stopped, if this moment never ended.

And it didn't, drawing out in the light. Time slowed and tripped along, leaving Emma with no idea how much time was passing. She didn't care, though, because as absurd as it was, as much as she bore the marks that could prove the opposite, she felt safe, loved, _warm_ from the inside out.

She was aware of his fingers drifting down her shoulder, brushing the sheet across her chest lower. She knew they were going to have sex; it was predetermined, it was _them_, that was how they did things. And she _wanted_ to. She wanted to make love with him, something she had so detested, been so careful to avoid. To make them avoid, because it would mean too much.

It would mean _this_.

Slowly, he eased himself off of her and back, until he was on his knees straddling her thighs. He reached across his body to his left arm and twisted his hook, yanking it out of its socket before dropping it over the side of the bed. It clattered to the deck and he returned to her, this time gently kissing her jaw and neck, lips open against every inch of skin he could reach. He was fastidious, practically worshipping her as his hand curled around her waist and he pressed them together, bare chests meeting. When he reached the angry red of the bite mark on her neck, he gently pressed his lips around it, barely touching the skin.

Slowly, he started working his way down her body. He paused at the top of her sternum, dropping his chin so he could meet her eyes.

"If you could see yourself," he murmured lowly, nothing but awe evident in his voice.

It was so different from everything they'd ever had before, Emma didn't know how to deal with it. How to deal with him. She pressed her fingers into his scalp and moved his head to the right, until his lips were brushing along the curve of her breast. He seemed to understand, nuzzling against the skin, the soft scratch of his scruff setting off a pleasant buzz under her skin. Slowly but surely she could feel herself opening up to him, any awkwardness fading away.

Nobody had ever done this to her before; kissed her like every inch of her was beautiful, like he wanted to show her just how much so.

She gasped, her trail of thought derailed when his lips fell across her already pebbled nipple. He ran his tongue across it, flicking and soothing in alternate movements. She squirmed, pressing up against him and she could feel laughter rumbling in his chest. After one more minute of delicious torture, he shifted and continued to brush simple kisses across her breasts and down the plane of her stomach. He carefully skirted the marks he'd left the night before, something Emma was grateful for; she didn't want the reminder, not now.

He reached her hip and brushed his fingers over the curve of it, his thumb dipping into the crease of her thigh. His lips continued to caress her skin, slipping down her stomach and moving to her hip. She gasped and shifted restlessly beneath him, but he refused to relent, to move, and he brought his hand down her thigh, trailing it until he reached her calf. Slowly he eased her foot forward, bending her knee up so he could kiss the inside of her thigh.

Her thigh protested the movement, muscles reminding her of the night before, but his lips felt amazing, soft and gentle and nothing she deserved.

"You don't have to," she started to say, but he lifted his head, brow furrowed, and interrupted her.

"Of course I do." He released her leg and shifted back over her body, bringing their faces together. "You're _perfect_ and you wouldn't let me show you before." He punctuated every word with a quick kiss across her cheeks and forehead. "You have no idea, love," he murmured. "I'm going to show you, though."

After pressing one more soft kiss against her lips, he lowered himself back down her body, inching down between her legs until he was on his knees, curled over her. He picked right back up where he had left off, kissing her ankle and foot before moving over to her other leg. This time he didn't have to bend her knee; she knew what he wanted, and did it herself. The smile that she felt pressed against her calf was enough to make her feel giddy.

Emma cast her gaze over him, the curve of his back, the way his neck twisted and pulled, deliciously long. She wanted to kiss him, to slide her fingers through his hair and kiss him again, forever, maybe.

He was moving up her thigh now, lips sliding lower and lower until he was pressing up against the spot where her body met her leg, and he paused, moving away from her skin until he was firmly between her legs, his eyes meeting her before slowly making their way down her body. His eyes fluttered shut and he took a deep breath, and she shuddered, the warm air brushing across the apex of her thighs, where she knew she was wet and hot and ready.

And he knew it too, his hand curving over her hip gently as he dipped his head closer to her core. A light chuckle escaped him, and she shuddered again, hips circling under his hand. He raised his brace and pressed it against her other hip, just enough pressure to keep her still.

He moved, then, agonizingly slow, his tongue coming out to lick over his lips as he met her gaze again, never breaking eye contact as he disappeared between her legs.

The first brush of his lips against her folds had her hips bucking involuntarily, a curse slipping past her teeth. He kissed her there, going no further, simple presses against her sensitive skin. It was perfect, wonderful, but it wasn't enough. His lips slipped upwards until they were pressing over her clit, and then they were parting and his tongue was rolling against her, eliciting a long sound from her, half-way between a moan and a sob.

"Go – god," she stuttered, her body shifting restlessly as he continued, kissing her like he was kissing her mouth, his tongue doing terrible things to her. She was twitching under his hand, hips circling restlessly. His teeth brushed against her clit, and the only thing that kept her on the bed was the firm press of his brace and hand against her. He licked his way back down again until his tongue was flicking inside of her with every movement, pressing inside in short little movements.

He groaned, the sound vibrating into her and she moaned, mumbling words she didn't even recognize.

"Gods, Emma," he growled, the words muffled against her skin, "you're so _hot_ and _tight_." She shuddered, a sharp cry slipping out of her when without warning, he shifted his hand and slid a finger inside of her, his lips sinking down over her clit. Gently, he pumped the single digit in and out of her in time with the languid flicks of his tongue against her.

It wasn't fast and rough, and part of Emma didn't know what to do with that. Didn't know what to do with him. Instead of trying to figure it out, she let herself get caught up in the slow wave building inside her, the gentle rolling way he was stroking inside of her.

"Killian," she murmured, the word slipping out of her lips before she could think about it.

He let out a soft sound and stilled, his forehead tipping forward to press against her abdomen. "Emma," he whispered, the word a dark rasp.

It was quite possibly one of the biggest turn-ons she'd ever experienced. Bucking her hips, she closed her eyes and let her fingers find his head, twisting into his dark hair.

"Oh, Killian," she breathed again, this time with intent. He curled his finger inside her, jolting up off of her so he could return his mouth to her, this time picking up speed. She let herself go, moans spilling from her lips as he continued, pressure building fast inside her now. Gone were the slow lapping waves, in their place a high spiral, threatening to send her flying.

She was so caught up in the sensations that she didn't notice his hand shifting until he was easing another finger inside of her, curling both with every thrust.

"God," she whimpered, knowing she was so close. "_Killian_," she whined, high and needy.

At her reaction, he growled, the sound rolling out against her skin, only throwing more fuel on the flames threatening to consume her. He nipped at her clit and curled his fingers with purpose, pressing them against that spot inside of her over and over.

She came with his name on her lips, tripping out over and over again as her legs turned to jelly and fell open on either side of him. He pushed her through it, continuing to stroke against her, refusing to let her come down without a fight.

Slowly her hips stopped twitching against him, and he withdrew his fingers. He kissed her thigh and then her stomach, beginning a trail back up her body. When he reached her lips, he brought his hand around to cup her neck, kissing her thoroughly. She was still lit up and pleasantly relaxed, so she simply followed where he led. She could taste herself on him, distinctly different from the taste of him as he swept into her like a storm.

Finally, he broke away from her, easing his head down to her chest, his ear pressed flat against her as though he was trying to prove she was really there. Emma ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the simple moment. Her lower back was starting to ache again, and she could feel her thighs protesting at being laid open the way they were to make room for his body pressed against her tightly. But it didn't feel like it mattered.

"You said my name," he murmured against her, head still pressed flat against her. She knew enough to know he was avoiding looking at her, what backtracking he might see in her.

"I did, didn't I?"

At that, he glanced up, his forehead furrowed.

"Emma," he started, voice low, but she cut him off.

"Don't even go there. Again. I know what I said." She grinned and bit her lip, sucking it into her mouth a little bit. "I said _Killian_ for a reason," she breathed.

He seemed frozen, his mouth hanging open slightly, and then he surged forward, kissing her intently, hard enough to press her head back into the pillow. He cradled her face with his hand, holding her steady so he could properly kiss her, deep and long. A small sound escaped him, swallowed up in their mouths, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. It seemed to never end, his lips playing against hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with every movement.

They were pressed so close together that Emma could feel every inch of him, this legs tangled between hers, his chest pressed hard against hers, his brace brushing against her arm where he was using it to hold himself up. But above all, she could feel him against her stomach, hard and hot and achingly familiar.

That, that she knew how to handle. Quite literally, in fact. Slipping one hand out of his hair, she trailed it lazily down his body, following the trail of dark hair that led between his legs. He gasped against her mouth, his lips stuttering against hers when she wrapped her hand around him, lazily stroking her hand up and down.

"Emma," he grunted against her, dropping his head until it was hanging over her chest, both arms shaking as he held himself up over her. "Gods above, woman." His breathing stuttered again when she swept her thumb out across the head. He shifted his hips, rocking against her hand, before he suddenly pulled away, easing back onto his knees. She tried to follow, but he pulled her hand away, bringing it to his lips so he could roll soft kisses along the knuckles.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he breathed into the palm of her hand, flipping it over and beginning to trail kisses up her wrist.

"Jesus, I'm not a fucking china doll," she snapped, yanking her hand away from him. The look on his face made her instantly regret it, but she plowed on. "Look, let's just have sex and call it a morning and go back to sleep, okay? And maybe later when we drag ourselves out of bed I can go home and have a hot bath and we can sort it out over dinner."

He blinked at her, still attempting to deal with her whiplash. A smile broke across his face and he chuckled, leaning back down towards her.

"Are you suggesting we go on a _date_?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Are we going to sit at the diner making stupid eyes at each other?"

"God, no," she muttered, scrubbing her hand over her face. "I mean you can come over to my place and I'll cook dinner and we can talk like rational mature adults." Peeking over her hand, she added, "Without sex."

He groaned mockingly. "Oh, but that's the best part…"

"Really? You think sex is the best part of our relationship?"

"Well, up until this point, I'd say sex was the _only_ part of our relationship, wouldn't you?" His words carried a biting undercurrent, but she couldn't deny his reason to be upset. She wanted to say something, but knew anything else would drag them into another argument, one neither of them really wanted to have. Instead, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and brought him down to kiss him, soft and lazy.

He seemed more than willing to forget his bitterness to kiss her, and his hand cupped her cheek as he deepened it again.

It had been a long time since Emma had been kissed this much in one day, and she selfishly loved it, loved the way it made her feel. Special. Loved.

Ignoring the protest in her legs, she pushed up against him, taking advantage of his surprise to roll them over so she was straddling him. The tops of her thighs burned but she still pressed herself against him, burrowing into his chest as they continued to kiss, his hand tangling in her hair while his hookless brace settled firmly on her lower back.

He pulled away, gasping, when she rocked her hips against his, firmly reminding him just how naked they both were. Smirking against his lips, she took advantage of his open mouth to sweep inside, clutching at his head to pull him closer until her nose was smashing against his cheek, but she didn't care because he tasted delicious and the small needy sounds he were making only made it sweeter.

"_Emma_," he whined when they parted, foreheads still pressed together, his hand clutching at her like she would leave at the slightest movement.

It twisted up her insides at the knowledge that she had done that, given him a perfectly justifiable reason to fear her retreat. Still, she wanted to reassure him, so she pressed her lips against his, a soft brush before she pulled back away.

"I'm not going anywhere, okay?" To prove her point, she rocked her hips back against him, rubbing herself against his cock. He gasped and buried his face in her neck, breathing hard and open-mouthed against her skin.

"Are you gonna –" he gasped when she rolled her hips and slid herself against him, but managed to find the words to continue, "are you gonna fuck me, love?"

"Maybe." She smirked and slid her hand down his chest, giving herself leverage to grind against him. "Ah, _Killian_," she breathed, and with that, he was gone. He growled into her mouth and bucked against her, rolling her under him as he frantically descended on her mouth. She let her hand drift between them, grasping him firmly, and this time he didn't try to remove her, his hips thrusting forward as he gasped into her mouth and kissed her again.

Knowing he wasn't gonna make the move, she shifted her hips, opening her legs wider so she could draw him in until he was brushing at her entrance, his hips jittering against her hand to avoid pressing into her before she pulled him in. His fingers curled against the back of her neck, his mouth desperate against hers.

"God," she whined, shifting her hips just enough to nudge him inside of her. He gasped and pressed forward, kissing her desperately as he tried to soften his movements, easing inside of her so slowly she felt like she was going to split apart from the tension.

Cursing internally, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the uncomfortable burn as he slid into her. He seemed to notice, which wasn't a surprise, considering how close their faces were, and stopped, his breathing harsh on her. She could tell he was about to say something, so she surged forward, desperate to keep the inevitable apologies off of his lips. His hips shifted, slipping himself further into her, and he groaned, shaking with the effort.

She didn't want him to treat her like she was gonna break, but she appreciated the gesture. Still, she was already adjusting, and when her hand slid across his back, drifting lower with intent, he didn't seem to notice until her hand was on his ass, pulling him into with one final push.

"_Fuck_," she cried out, the word hoarse and gritty in her throat as he bottomed out in her, full and deep and _god_ she felt sore and too tight. He stilled instantly, pulling away from her lips to cradle her head in his hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, concern filling it up and she nodded frantically, shoving her hair out of her face.

"Fine, I'm fine," she said, and he nodded quickly, abruptly, dipping his head to kiss her again, short and sweet before he pulled away and started to move, long, slow strokes inside of her that did a damn good job of making her forget the way she throbbed and ached around him. And the sounds he made, god, she could live in them forever. His breathing was erratic, hard at one moment and breathy at the next, his fingers pressing into her hip with every movement. Every so often he'd groan or grunt, murmured words about how she felt around him, soft cries that made her want to kiss them right out of his mouth.

She was far from innocent herself, short cries escaping her every time he thrust into her, their slick bodies pressing together in some perfect symphony. It took all she had to ease her feet up under herself to meet his thrusts, but when she did his arm holding him above her shuddered, and he shifted to his elbow, changing the angle and bringing them closer.

"You're so _tight_, gods," he muttered with a groan, sinking into her again. With the new angle, he picked up the pace, his thrusts coming harder and faster, but she was losing herself in the feel of them, arousal pressing out the dulled ache in favor of the way he drug his hips across hers at every thrust, the sensations scraping across her clit enough to make her want to cry.

His face was buried in her neck, soft muffled sounds escaping him every so often, and she reveled in it, the way his breathing hitched when she met his thrusts or let her foot press against his leg. Drawing one hand over her head, she shut her eyes and let the other drift down her body, finding the place where they were joined together. His hips knocked against her wrist but neither of them seemed to care as she gently started to circle her clit, his thrusts stuttering as she fluttered around him. He groaned into her skin and she felt the sharp edge of teeth, but he merely nipped lightly and pressed his open mouth against her to muffle the sounds.

She'd never heard him this vocal before, at least, not like this. He never had any problem telling her how she looked or felt, but she could count the number of times he'd let her hear him so vulnerable on one hand. And most of them had been when she was between his legs, undoing him with a press of her tongue and the curve of her lips.

Maybe that's exactly what she was doing now though, pulling him apart just enough to put him back together again.

The feeling rattled around in her chest and ricocheted off her heart.

His lips finding their way to hers again drew her away from her thoughts, and she kissed him back eagerly, more than happy for the distraction. She didn't need to overthink this right now, no, she needed the rock of their bodies together, the coming together and the falling apart.

Breaking away from her with a hiss, he reared back on his knees and shifted his forearms under her ass, bringing her closer so that she rested on his spread thighs. He shot a look at her, and she nodded, knowing he wasn't about to move again if he thought it would be too much for her.

He heaved out a breath and thrust into her, easy at first and then all at once, forcing a gasp out of her. His fingers dug into her hip and his brace pressed hard against her side, holding her as still as he could while he rocked his hips against her. It didn't take long before he had a rhythm set up, pulling out fast and then sinking in slow, and it was doing horrible things to Emma, setting her off deliciously.

Her hand had shifted when he'd moved her, but she scrambled it back to her clit, rubbing furiously this time because she could tell he was close and she wanted to come first, not together, damn it, wanted to watch him fall into her.

Wanted to see the way Killian Jones would love her.

Abruptly, he shifted again, changing the angle enough to drag his cock over that spot inside of her with every thrust, and god, she wasn't expecting it. It sent shocks through her; she could feel herself clamping down on him, the combination of sensations pushing her towards her own orgasm.

She grit her teeth and bore down, so close, she was _so close_, bucking her hips wildly, uncaring that his fingers were digging into her skin, pressing her back against his thrusts.

And then she was there, his name flying from her lips in a soft whimper as she crashed down, eyes fluttering as she tried to keep her gaze fixed on his face. She could hardly focus, but the look on his face, she wanted to memorize that, keep it forever.

He looked like he loved her.

The sensations shifted and she realized dimly that he had slowed his thrusts, trying to draw her pleasure out, to make it last, and she felt her heart clenching tight in her chest.

"I love you," she whimpered, clutching at whatever she could find of his, coming up with his forearm and holding tight. "God, I love you so much, Killian."

He practically fell on top of her, his harsh breathing the only sound before he was kissing her, tearing the words away from the both of them as he continued thrusting, speeding up again as his mouth matched his hips, pushing into her until she had nothing left to give.

Tangling her hands in his hair, she held him there, barely letting him go far enough to press their foreheads together, lips grazing with every little movement, every grunt, every groan. His voice was raspy and she wanted to wrap herself in it and never leave when he spoke.

"I love you, I swear, so much, gods Emma, _I love you_," he said fiercely, the words coming in stuttered pants as he got closer and closer to his own release.

"I know, I know," she murmured in reply, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, his back, pulling him down until there was no more room between them, not enough for air or breath, but it didn't matter because all they were breathing in was each other. "Come for me, _Killian_," she whispered against his ear, and he stiffened with a groan before gripping her tightly and slamming into her, hips pistoning against hers.

He pulled back from her and she knew he was coming, the way his face twisted up and he stilled inside of her, her name followed by a series of curses falling from his lips. Groaning, his fingers dug into her skin and she knew she'd have a matching set of finger-shaped bruises on either hip, but it didn't matter because he looked _beautiful_. She'd never really taken the time to appreciate it, before. He cried out her name one last time and collapsed against her, barely slowing himself with his brace before they collided in a fierce kiss, a clash of lips and tongues and teeth that was messy and sloppy but still felt absolutely perfect.

Still panting into her mouth, he made a soft sound, trapped in the back of his throat, and rolled to the side, somehow managing it without stopping the kiss. His hand was caressing the side of her face, pressing her hair behind her ear as he leaned into her.

Slowly, they broke apart, stealing little presses from each other as he shifted to curl her closer to his body, and she laughed lightly, wrapping her arms around his chest. The adrenaline and peaceful feeling that clogged her body was starting to fade, and she could feel the thrumming ache under her skin that told her it had probably been a bad idea to have sex, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.

"I love you," he whispered again into her hair, and she sighed.

"I know." She squeezed his middle, shifting her head to his shoulder. "I know." Tilting her head, she pressed a soft kiss to the skin next to her, the corner of his chest. "I love you too."

They stayed like that, curled into each other, breathing each other's skin, for a long time. Emma didn't know how long, only that her eyes were starting to droop again. He shifted under her, twisting his arm, but she didn't open her eyes, comfortable against him. It wasn't until she felt the covers sliding over her shoulders that she realized what he had been doing.

It sparked something in the back of her mind, something about the first time they'd fallen asleep together. Her eyes fluttered and she tried to grasp at it, but she was already half-asleep and falling, and so she let it go, because it didn't matter.

That was then, and this was now.

His arm curled around her shoulders and she felt him press a soft kiss against her hair, his fingers brushing it away from her face.

She felt safe, content, and…well, loved. It unwound her shoulders and was the last thing she thought of before she let herself drift away, knowing that when she woke up, he'd be still beside her, waiting, loving, _there_.

And that was all she'd ever wanted.


End file.
